


My Guy

by JulieJewels



Series: About Peter Parker [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Michelle Jones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Michelle Jones, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 17:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18266234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieJewels/pseuds/JulieJewels
Summary: Michelle Jones has never really thought about it - Peter's always just been there. But now he's disappeared and Tony Stark isn't getting anywhere with his so-called investigation. So much for him being a genius. MJ has never been good at twiddling thumbs, but now it seems like she might have to learn it, and fast. Right?Wrong, of course.





	1. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe's fundraiser is amazing, but everything else isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Wow, last story of the series! Once again, if you haven't read the other four, no worries - you shouldn't have any problems with this one. On that note, thank you all for appreciating the other stories so much - the comments and the kudos and the simple fact that people are reading mean the world.
> 
> So here we go! It's Michelle's POV! Enjoy.

MJ had to hand it to him: Abe had outdone himself.

Well, Abe and everyone who’d helped him.

The entrance hall of the Avengers Compound had been cleared and stuffed full of stalls set up along all four walls. Some of them sold Avengers merchandise. Some of them offered curious little Avenger-themed games. At some of them you could buy drinks, or something to eat, or sweets to take home and share with your family. And some of them featured the actual Avengers, in the flesh, there for everyone to interrogate and admire.

Those, of course, were the most successful stands. Packed crowds of people were gathered around them, shrieking and reaching out. MJ rolled her eyes – if nothing else, she had a reputation to uphold –, but she had to admit that the excitement was starting to draw her in. There was something about the most powerful people in the world in the same place at the same time. It didn’t just leave a person cold, no matter how much they tried to stay stoic.

And MJ tried.

All that being said, she was ready to get away from there.

She hadn’t been planning on showing up at all. The fundraiser was a good idea for a good cause and all, but you could donate money over the internet – which MJ had done –, and huge events with numerous people crammed into one room had never really been her thing. She’d only come because Ned and Peter had talked her into it, but now Ned had disappeared somewhere with Betty Brant and Peter had excused himself, stating that he just wanted to say hi to Mister Stark.

It had been half an hour and Peter was still nowhere to be seen. MJ, understandably, was a little pissed.

She huffed and left the safe emptiness of a far corner in favor of moving closer to the crowds of people. She would have gone home, left the two nerds to fend for themselves, but Peter had talked about ice cream later, maybe a movie marathon at his place, and MJ like ice cream, and she liked movies. She had been looking forward to this.

So, instead of running the other way, she approached.

Tony Stark had his own stall. He was showing off unassembled parts of his suits and explaining how they worked. Of course, a very small minority was interested in that, while a very large majority kept raising their hands and asking banal questions about Pepper Potts and an impending wedding and Stark’s favorite meal and his favorite color and his personal life behind closed doors.

And about Peter. Some asked questions about the kid who’d been sighted more and more frequently at the billionaire’s side.

MJ cared little about all of that. She respected Tony Stark for his skills and his genius, but that was where her interest ended. Quite frankly, he seemed like all the other billionaires of the world – rich and entitled. Had Peter not been so smitten with the man, she would have dismissed him years ago, but if her nerdy friend was this impressed, there had to be something more going on. Something MJ hadn’t noticed or realized – which was rarely the case and even more rarely for this long – and she was _still_ looking.

One day she would understand. She always did.

Since that day had not yet come, however, she did not feel half bad about cutting the man off mid-sentence once she’d fought her way through the crowd in front of his booth.

“Where’s Peter?” she asked without preamble. She was direct like that. And she liked it, too. No use wasting precious time on pleasantries.

The engineer’s eyes snapped to her and he looked confused for a second before his blinding smile superficially wiped away every other emotion.

He leaned down and whispered, “Kind of in the middle of something. I thought he was with you.”

“Well, he isn’t.”

Tony Stark sighed, but to his credit, he turned back to his attentive audience and lifted a finger. “One second. I’ll be right back. Just have to sort something out.”

To the background of annoyed grumbles and frustrated huffs, he gestured with his head for MJ to meet him a small distance off. She followed his order without hesitation and was soon face to face with the man. The smile had melted off his face the moment he’d turned his back to his spectators, and another expression had taken its place, one MJ had a hard time reading.

“This is the second time I’m leaving them alone today,” he said, “so this better be good.”

“It’s not _good_ ,” MJ snapped back. “I’m just telling you that I can’t find Peter.”

Stark rubbed his eyes. “Where have you looked?”

“He was supposed to meet me back at the entrance and he hasn’t.”

“How long ago was this?”

“When he came to say hello to you. He said he’d be right back.”

Stark looked up, his hand frozen in the air. He glanced at his watch. “That was half an hour ago. He was all giddy and excited and he told me he had plans.”

“ _Yes_. With me,” MJ ground out, still hesitant about admitting that. “But he never showed up.”

“Have you tried to call him?”

“ _Yes._ It went straight to voicemail.” It was right as she said this that MJ felt it for the first time – a little pang of worry. Nothing major, nothing panicky, but until then, she’d only been annoyed. Now she realized that she preferred that previous feeling to this one.

Tony Stark sighed. He pulled out his own phone, called the boy, raised the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds – MJ counted twelve –, then stuffed the device back into the pocket of his pants with a huff. He walked up behind Captain America, who was busy with his own booth, and tapped him on the shoulder.

The super soldier tilted his head back and to the side, muttering, “Is everything okay?”

Stark sighed. “Yeah. I just need you to close down my booth and take over my audience. Something came up.”

“Everything okay?” the Captain repeated, his face suddenly harder.

“Just try not to mess up,” Stark quipped with his usual snark and grinned. “My guys over there are going to be pretty bummed.”

The first Avenger rolled his eyes. “Get over yourself, Stark. I can handle a few of your fans.”

The other man clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “Thanks.” Then he was off, grabbing MJ’s arm and pulling her along. “Let’s find him, shall we?”

***

“Peter Parker is not currently in the building.”

“So where is he, Friday?”

“His tracker has been disabled. He left the building thirty-three minutes ago via a back exit in the garage.”

MJ’s eyes narrowed and Stark glanced at her quickly before turning back to the screen. “Pull up the footage.”

He leaned forward in his chair as a recording started playing on the screen in front of them. MJ focused on it, too. The angle was awkward, but Peter was visible well enough, his steps fast and urgent, one hand pressed to his ear. He was holding his phone.

Stark cursed as he noticed the wide eyes and pursed lips. Peter was obviously scared.

“Yes,” the boy said and Friday helpfully filtered his voice out from the background noises so that the tremor was easily perceptible. “Yes, I’m moving toward the exit.”

Something was said on the other end of the line, something the cameras had not picked up, and Peter closed his eyes for a second before picking up his pace. “Okay, okay. Just leave the fundraiser alone. I’m almost there.”

And he was. He opened the small black door and slipped outside. There, another camera caught his progress as he made his way over the backyard. A cab-like vehicle was waiting at the curb of the pavement and Peter got in before the car drove away, serene and casual, as if nothing significant had happened.

“Shit,” Tony Stark cursed and MJ would have joined, but she was a little frozen. Had she … had she really just seen _that_?

“Friday, why wasn’t I warned about this earlier?!” Stark was yelling, his fingers dancing over a keyboard that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Weird. MJ wasn’t used to failing to notice changes in her environment, and she wondered why she’d missed everything that had happened over the course of the past minute. Everything except for the recording, which, by the way, had started playing again from the beginning.

“There was nothing suspicious about Mister Parker’s movements,” the robotic feminine voice droned in her ear, but MJ wasn’t really listening. She was watching Peter. Not Peter exactly, but his form, caught on tape. He moved along the hallway again, exited the building, crossed the backyard, disappeared.

MJ exhaled.

At the same exact moment, Tony Stark leapt into action.

“Friday, call the police. Give them all the information, everything you think is relevant. Give them this recording too. Tell them that a teenager has been kidnapped" - MJ's heart froze - "and that we're sure." MJ's heart picked up like crazy. "He hasn't run away or anything, he was taken. Close the fundraiser downstairs and get every Avenger in the building here ASAP.”

A rush of blood to MJ's head made her vision swim for a second.

“Yes, Boss. There are currently eleven Avengers in the building. Do you want me to call those who are absent too?”

Tony Stark did not hesitate. “Yes. And give me his aunt’s phone number. I need to get in touch with her.” He turned to MJ, his face set in determination, but there was something blubbering and boiling underneath, something he wouldn’t let himself feel. MJ knew because …

Well, takes one to know one, or whatever.

“Don’t tell anyone. Not yet. We don’t need a panic and we sure as hell don’t need those bastards to know we’ve realized he’s gone. Time is of the essence right now and surprise might be our only advantage.”

MJ nodded, swallowing.

“Also, I need you to go home. Will you be alright on your own?”

MJ snorted. As if. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Look, you seem to be a very smart girl, but you’re a kid and I don’t need a kid –”

“With all due respect, Mister Stark, this will go a lot faster if you just let me stay. I promise I won’t get in the way, I’ll just … be here.”

Stark turned away, muttering to himself, and Friday’s voice spoke up again, cutting the conversation short – or perhaps only sealing its outcome. “Captain Rogers is still downstairs, but the other Avengers are on their way to you now. Miss Maximoff and Vision will be here in a few hours. Colonel Rhodes is on his way as well.”

“Thanks, Fri.”

“Of course, Boss.”

The engineer collapsed back into his chair, washing a hand down his face. His fingers twitched and had MJ not known any better, she would have sworn that the man was shaking. Muttering curses into his beard, he buried his frantic hands in his hair, let them settle there and pull. It looked like it had to hurt.

“When is that stupid kid going to catch a break?” he said weakly and his voice cracked around the edges. MJ still only stared at him, at the icon who was only human like the rest of them. She’d just watched _Titanic_ a few days ago and there was a scary parallel to be drawn.

Titanic, the unsinkable ship.

Iron Man, the unbreakable man.

They were both made out to be more immortal than they really were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :*
> 
> Also, I'm thinking of doing a few one shots with IronDad and SpiderSon in the near future, so if anyone has any promts you want written, I would be really happy if you shared them with me in the comments. Have a very, very nice Friday and I hope I see you tomorrow, on a even nicer Saturday.


	2. Out of Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is boring and dull since Peter's gone. Until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday! How are all of you doing?!  
> In this chapter, there's one scene that's a little graphic. It's nothing major - just a cut, really - but if you're not up for it, you might want to skip this.  
> Thank you again for reading this and on we go with the second chapter! Enjoy!

It had been three days.

Three days since the fundraiser, and that God-forsaken video MJ could not get out of her head, and three days since Tony Stark had said, “Time is of the essence.”

She remembered.

She also remembered the enthusiasm with which the Avengers (and herself) had gotten to work, the humming energy as everyone had gone about their tasks. The silent promise that they would succeed – because they had to – and that Peter would be back by the end of the day.

She looked back on that now and had to laugh at herself. There is no such kind of promise. There could never be, because no one can keep it.

At some point she’d had to eat, and she’d had to sleep and she’d had to go home.

And now she was at school.

She would have protested – and she would have won the argument too because she was not used to losing –, but the initial optimism had faded in favor of reality and she couldn’t stand being in that room anymore, hot and sweaty and surrounded by Avengers on a futile mission. So here she was, at the school gate, and now she was inside, and at her locker. Now there were books in her arms, and now she was in her classroom, sitting down at her desk. Nobody looked at her because no one knew yet.

They would look at her in a month, when Peter failed to show up.

They would look at her in half a year, when last hopes dwinded.

They would remember her as the almost-girlfriend of that Hero guy who had vanished without a trace, and as the girl who would never find another man because she’d been too damaged and had become too scary and too sullen a long time ago.

Why had Peter stuck with her, anyway? What was his problem?

With that single thought, History was over, and MJ had no clue how time had managed to move so fast.

Another single thought got her through Math – Why was Ned hiding at home? He could have come to school and sat next to her. MJ would have gone so far as to say that his presence would have made the whole thing easier, but she would _never_ say that and Ned knew it.

He _knew_ and even still, he had not come over.

He had not even called.

_Bell._

The rest of the day fell victim to another single thought. What if he was dead?

_Bell._

_Bell._

_Bell._

Time could do crazy things MJ had never known about before.

But she would be coming back tomorrow. She wasn’t sure about it now, but she knew she would be sure the next morning, sitting in her huge room, surrounded by droning silence. She would give in to the idea of shaking this loneliness by spending the day among people, even though those people had nothing to do with it in the first place.

She left school with the same thought on her mind – _What if he’s dead?_ – and crossed the street. There was no way she was taking the bus – too many sweaty people in too small a place – and there was even less of a way she was taking a cab – no comment.

Her mind was slow, but the thing happened so fast.

There was something pressed up against her face, and she knew she should have known what it was, should have recognized the smell in the five seconds it took her to fade away.

But, quite frankly, it was something of a relief.

***

MJ resurfaced and then went back down under.

***

MJ resurfaced and went back down under.

***

MJ resurfaced.

She had not slept in a while and only now, waking from the black pit of nothingness, she realized that she’d missed it.

Waking up once a minute a hundred minutes in a row was not sleeping, she realized. Dreams and constant pictures that left you drained and feeling as if you had never closed your eyes at all, were not sleeping. This had not been sleeping either, this drug-induced state of unawareness, but it was the closest she had come to it in the past three days.

So, it would be really nice if that _stupid_ noise could stop and let her slip back.

But it didn’t.

And it wasn’t a noise at all. It was beautiful, in fact, only MJ could not really put her finger on the why of it yet.

Plus, it was saying something. The voice. Something important probably.

She listened.

It was far, far away, on the other side of an ocean for all she knew, but it was comprehensible once she focused on the words. _MJ._

Which was odd because, as she’d made abundantly clear, only her friends were allowed to call her that. And she didn’t have all that many friends left.

But there it was. _MJ. MJ. MJ._ Like a broken record.

A broken record of the past, because that voice.

_That voice._

Her eyes were suddenly open.

She was in a barren room, tiled floor, dark walls, an actual _cage_ in one corner.

And the _actual Peter Parker_ in another corner.

MJ’s breath hitched and before she knew what was happening, she had already breathed, “ _Peter._ ”

His smile spread like quicksilver and MJ was so blinded by it that she did not notice everything else. “Hey, MJ.”

But now she noticed. She was always bound to notice, and yet she somehow wished she hadn’t. Peter was battered. His face bloody and blue, his lips split in three different places. He sat on the ground, hunched forward, his hands behind his back. He was probably chained to the wall – and MJ knew that because if he hadn’t been restrained one way or another, he would have been kneeling next to her. No, he would have gotten her out of there a long time ago and spared her all of this. He was like that.

All in all, he was hurt and miserable. She could tell. She chose to put that aside, though. For now.

“What happened?” she barked sharply, fighting for her normal composure. Peter leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

If he noticed her shifting mood, he did not show it. “Well, we’ve been kidnapped,” he supplied.

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes sparkled as he grinned at her, and she sighed. Let out a breath that had been stuck somewhere deep, deep down for days.

“Who are they? The ones who took us?”

“Hydra.”

“ _Who_?”

He clenched his jaw. “They’re a criminal organization.”

“Right.” She went to rub her eyes, but as her mind cleared further, she finally realized that she was seated on a chair, her hands bound behind its back and her ankles bound to its legs. She wasn’t moving anytime soon. All she could do was talk, and listen, and think - and, frankly, she did not _hate_ those odds. “What do they want?”

Peter pursed his lips. “Friday.”

“What, Tony Stark’s Friday?”

“Yeah. Her code.”

She stared for a second. Blinked. “And you know the code?”

“They think I do.”

“But _do_ you?”

“Well.” He pulled his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. It was a very Peter-Parker thing to do, discounting his shoulders that seemed to be close to popping out of their sockets. “I know how she works. Mister Stark showed me. We went through it once. I … I should be able to recreate something similar.”

“But you haven’t,” she made sure, even though she had a strong suspicion that the question was horribly redundant.

Peter, for his part, did not seem offended in the least. “I don’t think they’re planning to use it as wisely as Mister Stark,” he said slowly, as if that cleared everything up.

It should have, MJ knew, but it didn’t. Because why would Peter always have to put everyone else before himself?

Speaking of. “ _Do they know?_ ” she whispered suddenly, sharply, wiping the last cobwebs off her sleepy mind. She could dally later. Now, she had to focus and give this her all. She absently glanced down at her feet and cursed mentally.

They’d taken her shoes.

“Know what?” Peter seemed confused, but not as confused as he should have been. And there was a defiant set to his jaw, which told MJ he’d suspected it.

“Don’t get all smart with me, Parker. About the other guy, do they know?”

“You know.” It was a statement. MJ answered anyway.

“I do.”

“Since when?”

“Since the beginning, of course.” That was a lie, but no one had to know. Ever. “A horrible liar, by the way.”

“I’ve heard _that_ one before.”

“And Ned is worse.”

“I _know,_ right?”

“And don’t change the subject.”

He bit his lip, licked over the damaged parts. “What was the subject again?”

“The goons.” She closed her eyes, thought back. “Hydra. Do they know about you?”

He made a vague gesture. “Not exactly, I think.”

“So why haven’t you broken out yet?”

He sighed deeply. “Sadly, that’s the _yes_ part of the _not exactly._ ”

She stared at him, unimpressed. He was about to explain, of course – what idiot would leave such a stupid statement uncommented? –, but he didn’t do it fast enough and frankly, MJ was running out of patience. So, before he could collect his thoughts, she barked, “Meaning?”

“ _Meaning_ that they know … _something._ They gave me sedatives, but I kept burning through them too fast, so they played it safe.” He shook his wrists and MJ heard a hollow clanking sound, metal against metal. And metal against stone. And the hairs on her neck tingled. “Vibranium,” he said.

Her eyebrows rose. “How did they get vibranium?”

“They’re Hydra. They’re omnipotent.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t really believe that.”

“No. I don’t. But it sure felt like it sometimes.”

MJ’s gut clenched as she watched him lower his gaze to the ground. He tried to keep his cool, but she could see it now. She could see the exhaustion. And the hurt. It had been three days. What the hell had they _done_ to him?

Time to change the topic, and _fast._ “So, what, they know you’re superhuman, but they don’t know who you are?” Well, not her best effort. But give her a break. She’d just woken up a few minutes ago.

A nod into his knees. “I think that for now they believe that I’m just Mister Stark’s experiment or something.” He shuddered. “As if Mister Stark could ever _approve_ of something like that.”

Wow. The blind faith of this boy. Sometimes, MJ wondered how someone so naïve (and good) and inexperienced (and innocent) had made it this far in life. But somehow, Peter always got back up, healed his wounds, and walked on. As if no scars had stayed behind to stain his … well, kindness was the best word for it and MJ should start to get used to its taste because she was planning on sticking to Peter’s side from now on. Provided they made it out of there, of course.

“Okay, so that’s kind of good, right?”

He shrugged again as best he could with his hands bound behind him. “Just a matter of time before they figure it out, I think.”

“Right.”

They lapsed into silence for a second or two before he raised his head, a smile on his lips.

“What, you’re not going to try and make me feel better? Tell me something nice? Deny the imminence of my doom?”

“That’s your job, Parker. Mine’s to be the reasonable one.”

“Right.”

Another few beats of silence. Then she decided to break it, if only to calm down her buzzing thoughts.

“So? You have a plan?”

“Half of one.”

“How far does it get us?”

“It gets you all the way to that door.” He bobbed his head in the direction of the only exit.

“That’s not half of a plan.”

“How am I supposed to know how much of a plan that is?” he snapped, but his dimples were showing again, his mouth curling up, and that was all MJ had ever wanted. “I haven’t been outside of this room; no idea how much ground there is to cover until we’re free.”

She arched her eyebrows. Had anyone been watching them, they would never have guessed that they were prisoners.

Well, ignoring Peter’s injuries and their bound hands and this goddamned room they were stuck in.

But banter was easy. It required a part of the brain that was apparently very pronounced with Michelle, so the words she formed and the thoughts she voiced burned little to none of her energy. She’d missed this. More than she had allowed herself to know.

“So, what, you just assumed that getting to that door would be half of the work? Meaning that the whole building consists of only two rooms?”

“I was being a little optimistic.”

“No, Parker. What you’re on a rainy Monday when we have a quiz and you have gone to bed at five a. m. the previous night after being beaten to hell by some unnamed weirdo – that’s called _a little optimistic._ This –” She bobbed her head, trying to include the whole room in the gesture, “this is something else entirely.”

He chuckled. “So what am I if I’m not _optimistic_?”

“Ridiculous. You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“All part of my charm.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

She sighed. Opened her mouth to say, “And for the record …” and then think of something off the cuff, but the door banged open, cutting her off, and three men walked in.

Peter’s posture changed instantly.

“What’s that then, you two lovebirds talking about getting away?”

Peter’s voice was deeper as he said, “No. Leave her out of it.”

The first man cackled and the other two followed his lead. Those two were definitely the muscle of the operation – MJ could tell from their broad shoulders, their towering heads and the undeniable fact that they could hardly be the brains.

“Sure, of course,” the man said, crouching down in front of Peter, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back violently. There was a knife in his other hand and he twirled it around, playing with it like a child would with a toy. “I drugged her, dragged her all the way here and tied her up, but I’ll _leave her out of it_ because you said so.”

Peter clenched his jaw and stared at the man without a word. Funnily enough, the goon was the first to break eye contact. He let go of Peter’s hair, bumping his head against the wall in the process, and swiftly stood up.

He turned to her.

Which was a relief and a new horror all at once.

He took his time walking over, and disappeared out of view behind the back of her chair. Peter’s eyes did not waver away from her face and so she could not look away from him either. At least it saved her the trouble of straining her neck trying to follow the kidnapper’s movements.

“Where should we mark her?” the man whispered, his voice sharp enough to cut through the whole room. She felt something cold against her shoulder blade – the knife, her mind supplied –, but Peter’s gaze held hers and she was not going to be the one to look away first.

She bit her lip, but she did not flinch.

The knife, cold and hard, glided from one shoulder to the other, down her back, then up to her nape. It came to rest on the side of her neck and she felt the tension building.

But she did not look away and Peter did not either.

“Here should be nice,” the man breathed. He pushed the knife into her skin, drew blood, and then pulled the weapon from one side of her neck to the other, leaving behind a red line.

A tear dropped down on Peter’s cheek, but he didn’t even blink.

For a single moment, MJ thought she was about to die.

Then the pain registered and she realized she could still breathe. The cut was shallow, barely a scratch, just deep enough to bleed.

“Here.” The man rattled her chair from behind and finally made her look down as she winced. But it was okay. It was okay because when she lifted her gaze, Peter’s eyes were still right there, still waiting for her, and she could latch back onto them. “Look at this tonight. Think of what happens if you don’t give us what we want tomorrow.”

Another tear spilled out of Peter’s eye, but he stayed silent.

He didn’t even grunt as one of the men kicked him in the stomach on their way out, looked away for only the tiniest moment.

As soon as the door shut behind the men, Peter righted himself, another quality to his features now – this one more haunted, but also more determined than before. Before MJ could say anything, he was already speaking, and his voice left no room for argument.

“We’re getting you out of here.”


	3. My Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ and Peter have a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have a suprise! :D  
> I've decided to post the last two chapters today! Both of them. Because the last one is so short that I just couldn't make you wait a whole day for it.  
> Enjoy!

“You have to do it harder, MJ,” Peter instructed gently and MJ scoffed.

“Of _course_ your plan would have me do all the work,” she muttered without any heat before focusing and trying again. She shrank into herself, then yanked her butt up, as fast and as far as the bonds would allow.

The chair was airborne for a single moment, then it crashed back to the ground with a resounding _crack._

They both froze and listened. The silence was buzzing with anticipation before Peter’s lips spread into a grin. MJ's mouth was following his lead without her ever thinking about it.

“I think there’s no one here with us,” Peter whispered, listening again as MJ repeated the motion, bringing her chair forward another millimeter. He went still for a second after the inevitable _crack,_ then nodded. “Yeah, I hear nothing.”

She did it again.

“You’re getting good at that. Now just another nine hundred and ninety-seven times and you’ll be done.”

***

It did not take a thousand jumps, as Peter had predicted, but in MJ’s grumpy opinion, they’d come far too close.

Once she’d crossed the room, hours had passed from what she could tell. But their cell had no windows, so the progress of time was hard to track. A small chandelier – the room’s only ornament – was their only source of light.

It did not bother her, though. In the repetitiveness of the activity her mind had slowed to something manageable.

Plus, with every jump, she’d been a little closer to Peter.

Now she was _right there._ Had she not been bound, she would have been able to reach out and trail a finger down his cheek, or press her hand against his chest. Not that she’d been thinking about that all that much.

“Okay, that’s great, MJ.” He unfolded his legs and kicked one leg of the chair with his foot, smiling. “I can reach you now. So only one more thing for you to do. You have to lean back fast and strong so that the chair tips. Got it?”

“Of course I’ve got it, Parker.” She did as she’d been told, her sweaty back pressing against the wood. The ropes binding her to the chair had loosened considerably during her exercises, but under her measly attempts, they would not give.

Her chair fell backwards and she closed her eyes as she landed on her back with a louder _clank_ than all the rest of them.

Peter was already working before she’d even regained her composure. He’d reached out with his legs, nudging her into the right position. Pulling her this way and that until her head was pressed up against the wall and the backrest of her chair was turned towards him.

Or, more specifically, towards his hands that were, indeed, chained to the wall.

“Yes, MJ, _yes,_ ” he muttered. “I can reach …” He strained. “ _Yes,_ I can reach your bonds.”

And sure enough, a second later, MJ felt something tug at the rope that bound her wrists together. She closed her eyes, letting a tear escape – she could still deny it later – and laughed. “That’s great.”

She felt his hands brush against her own, felt his cold, cold skin – Was he supposed to be _this_ cold? – and then, with a magic snap, her hands were free.

She brought them forward and wasted no time untying her ankles. It took longer than MJ was willing to spare, but then she was free and she jumped up, stumbling over. She threw her arms around Peter with a sense of desperation that had resurfaced only now, after hours in the quiet, and she was grateful for the body under her touch, for his breath against her cheek, even when he could not hold her back.

“I missed you,” she murmured against his T-shirt, trailing lines over his chest with her finger. She felt him smile even though she didn't look up.

“I missed you, too.”

They stayed like that for about ten seconds before he spoke up again, his voice tentative. “MJ? You’re really going to have to go.”

She sniffed and brushed a hand over her eyes. Let herself have another three seconds before she sat up and blinked down at him, rolling her eyes and trying to convey how ridiculous he was being again.

As if she’d ever just leave.

“Parker, you’ve done your five per cent of the plan,” she said, her grin widening at his mock-hurt expression, “now let me do the other ninety-five.”

She just hoped she could deliver.

She checked the pockets of her pants, her sock, her belt, her hair. Nothing. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but you couldn’t always have what you hoped for. _Obviously._ Peter seemed confused, his brow furrowed, and she decided to look him right in the eye as she slipped a hand underneath her shirt and felt around the edges of her bra.

“Uh, MJ?” He had expectedly flushed bright red and MJ winked.

Then she laughed, because _voila!_

She closed her hand around the small coin-sized object and pulled it out. Peter’s eyes widened delightedly as he caught sight of what she was victoriously holding over her head.

“A panic button!” he exclaimed and MJ nodded. She pressed the little black button in the middle of the device and the whole thing lit up red before turning back off, dying right in front of their eyes.

“Was that it?” she asked, unsure. It felt a little ... anticlimactic.

Peter tilted his head. “I think so.”

That first day after Peter had disappeared, Stark had gone a little overboard. He’d made everyone on the team – including MJ – wear his panic buttons at all times. The things were small and handy, but hiding more than one of them on your person could be a real pain. Of course, MJ was hardly going to complain. The devices were dead tech, undetectable by any scanners, right up until you pressed the button and it sent out a signal to Stark directly.

It was simple and ingenious, like most of Stark’s designs.

“So you’ve been talking to Mister Stark,” Peter breathed, still wary at the prospect of maybe getting out of there alive. MJ could see the disbelief in his eyes, the hesitation to imagine something so beautiful on the chance that it may still all fall apart.

“Yeah, he made me wear at least five of the buttons at all times.”

“Yay, Mister Stark!”

“I took eleven.”

Peter arched his eyebrows. “Yay, MJ!” He laughed and she shrugged.

“Figured the attackers would probably give up once they found ten.”

“And you figured right. As always.”

“You _are_ learning.” She leaned back down, letting her head come to rest on his strong chest. And it _was_ strong, no matter how skinny he looked. She traced some of the muscles through his shirt before she realized what she was doing.

“You know you’re really beautiful, right? And really smart and really great in general?”

She looked up at him, her cheek still pressed to his chest, and noticed that he’d been staring at her the whole time. His heartbeat strong and steady in her ear.

“You know you’re a dork, right?”

He nodded seriously. “I do.”

She snorted and looked back down. She heard his heart slow down, then pick up its pace again.

“Hey, MJ?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you … there’s this spot on my face that’s been itching forever and I can’t … Could you maybe …”

She’d sat up before she knew what she was doing. Yes, she could, she could do anything now. Even this, even show another side of herself. She could do it. “Where does it itch?”

He flushed. “To the right of my nose.”

She scratched him and then she placed the pad of her finger on his cheek, trying to be gentle. She’d never tried to be gentle with anyone, except for her aunt’s dog, but Skippy liked his affection rough and didn’t mind if the scratching got a little out of control. So this was uncharted territory. She slowly pressed her whole palm against his cheek, allowing herself to feel him, his warmth, his breath.

Then, suddenly, she felt nothing but his lips pressed against her own.

They were warm and chapped and she was reminded of vampires – of all things – as she felt the distinct taste of copper against her tongue. But she did not move away. She knew that she could never move away. She pushed into it, returned it, until she heard him groan, and then she did it for a second longer before shying away.

God, had she hurt him?

She looked him over, about to say something, but he beat her to it. “You’re amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know.” Even though she didn’t. Even though it felt like honey and milk and her favorite cookies when she heard him say that.

He leaned his head back against the wall, sighing, and she frowned. A hand tentatively reached out to his face and she placed it on his cheek again, on his brow, while he exhaled through his nose. “What’re you doing?”

“I think you have a fever, Pete.”

He looked at her, his eyes wide. “You called me _Pete._ ”

She rolled her eyes, but something in her stomach clenched. Peter had been here for three days, alone. She’d only been here for a few hours and she’d had _him_ next to her throughout. How much harder did this have to be for him?

“Yeah, I did, dork. Now, don’t avoid the truth.”

“Which is?”

She scoffed. “You’re sick.”

He grinned weakly. “It’s a little chilly down here. But I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. But you will be.” A promise to the both of them. She leaned her head back down on his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was cozy like this, even in the cold, bleak room, even with the faint burn of a wound across her neck, and she could imagine repeating it. Repeating it time and again even; on Peter’s couch and on her couch and on his bed and on hers and on the floor of their bedrooms. Wherever he wanted, she’d be all for it.

He kissed the crown of her head.

And it felt like _everything_.

It almost felt better than the sudden _bam_ five minutes later as the door flew off its hinges and Iron Man himself poked his head inside, his eyes shining as they landed on the intertwined forms on the ground.


	4. About Peter Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ admits a few things to herself. It's high time, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once again, thank you for all your support. It means the world. This is the last chapter of this series. I hope you liked it. I'm planning on doing a few one shots now (with some IronDad and SpiderSon), so if any of you have any prompts you would like someone to write, I would love to read about them in the comments.  
> I hope you enjoy!

“How is he?” She jumped up as soon as Tony Stark appeared in the doorway and he frowned.

“You’re still here? I thought you’d gone home.”

She rolled her eyes. “This’ll go a lot faster if you just tell me how he is.”

“He’s fine.” She exhaled, feeling herself relax. She hadn't noticed how tense she’d been to begin with. “He’ll just have to sleep it off.”

“Can I see him?”

“Sure, of course.”

Stark laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her through the doorway and down a hall, where he stopped in front of another door. “Just … he needs his rest, so please try not to wake him, okay? He’s been having trouble falling asleep.”

She nodded wordlessly and he opened the door to reveal a dimmed room.

It was painted green, with a window and a desk in one corner. A bed adorned the middle of the room and a few chairs had been placed on either side of it. One of them was occupied by a sleeping May and the bed itself was occupied by Peter.

MJ hurried forward, claiming one of the abandoned seats. Stark was right behind her.

“He’s still running a fever,” he whispered, “and he’ll need a few days for all the injuries to heal. They … well, they did a number on him.”

She nodded and something burned behind her eyes.

“But the important thing is that he _is_ going to be okay.”

She nodded again.

Stark sat down in the chair next to her, grabbing Peter’s hand in his. MJ wished she had thought of that, wished she had reached out before her chance had been snatched away like that. She was used to fighting for what she wanted, but right now, looking at Stark’s pale face, it seemed wrong to take the touch away from him.

So she leaned back in her chair and let her mind drift.

***

She’d fallen asleep.

She realised this in the middle of the night, as she opened eyes that should never have closed in the first place. Next to her, Stark was snoring quietly, his head on his shoulder and his arm outstretched, still resting on the mattress. He’d let go of Peter’s hand, however, and MJ snatched it up, enveloping the cold, cold palm with her own warm ones.

Peter was asleep on his side now, facing her. His eyes were closed, lashes resting against white skin. He was pale, his cheeks flushed, his hair matted to his sweaty forehead. A lamp burned somewhere in the background, drawing gentle shadows on his gentle face. But there was a crease in his brow. A tension in his features.

MJ could tell, like she could tell almost everything about him.

It only took her a moment of hesitation before she decided. She stood quietly, never letting go of Peter’s hand, and climbed carefully into the bed. She tried not to stir him as she draped an arm over his waist.

He thrashed to the other side, his back now to her. She held her breath. Froze. Panicked a little. But not even a moment passed before he'd turned back to her, arms descending to envelop her and pull her close.

She let her breath out slowly, carefully, terrified of waking him now. Terrified of making him move again. A minute, two, before she could relax a little. Three before she let her arm rest against his waist again and melted into the embrace.

She looked up at his peaceful face. Her head buried away from the world between his chest and his chin.

This, she could picture too. Time and again; on her sofa and Peter’s, on her bed and Peter’s, on the floors of their respective bedrooms. She could picture him nuzzling closer, like he was doing now, and she could picture his kiss against the crown of her head, over and over.

She could get used to this.

She could imagine her life like this. She really could.

She could even picture saying the words. Someday. In the future. But she could _picture_ it and she never had before.

He might have been stupid for sticking with her, but hey, he was stupid a lot of the time, and wasn’t that exactly why he had her? And she was a little broken, perhaps, a little crazy, a little rude, but wasn’t that exactly why she had him?

Ockham’s razor: the simplest solution is normally the right one.

And isn’t this solution just beautifully simple? They solve each other’s problems. Make each other smile. Complement each other.

What more is there to ever want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, all done. It'll actually be a little weird not posting every day now. This has been so much fun, and a big part of that were your kudos and your comments, so I cannot thank you enough for those. Have a very nice Sunday, everyone! And I hope I see you soon. :*


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